Skeletons
by Justnyxie
Summary: Trunks has hit rock bottom, he can't speak, he wont' eat and the blade is his best friend. Angst, B-Mod, Death, D/A, H/C, Other, WIP
1. Chapter 1

AN: Sadly, I do not own Dragonball Z. The anime belongs to Akira Toriyama and others.

Warnings: Self Injury, Drug abuse, Rape and Suicide.

Thanks to: Fan-To-Fiction for her being beta to the story.

Chapter 1.

_1st November. Wed._

_I'm curious. Not in an annoyingly naive way, but in a general adult way. Everything around me feels different today, nobody in the hallway even blinks as they pass me by; not that I care, I just wish they wouldn't knock into me as much. It doesn't hurt, the nudges I mean, but I don't push back in case I hurt them. I'm not bragging but I'm a strong guy. Mostly because of my genes though._

_The 'chameleon effect', not being noticed I mean, feels a little bit like freedom today I guess. At home all I get is awkward glances and people walking on eggshells. Damned eggshells. You see, I went a little crazy a while back. To tell you the truth it wasn't my entire fault, my mind's just not made for a lot of pressure and stress. Especially if I keep it all to myself and don't deal with it. The folks are trying to get me to talk now, not just to them but to everyone, or anyone. They don't care. As long as I say something. Even one word.*_(Maybe another sentence form: Even if it's just one word)_ You see, I don't talk at all. Shooting of your mouth only leads to more shit ; never solves a damn thing._

_I have this best friend, been together since we were in diapers, and he's the only one that understands me. He doesn't push me in order to talk nor doesn't do anything I don't want do. He just talks and I listen. Or we both just listen. Silence is nice when you're with someone that you love like that. He's always telling people to lay of me and cut out with the corny crap they always pull. You know the old 'we love you' and 'we can help if you just say something' bull. He's a smart kid, for being a whole year younger than me and if I'm honest, and not meaning to brag, I'm a pretty smart kid too._

_I get good grades in my classes at school, especially literature. But my mom has to go up to the school a lot; I get involved in a lot of fights. Mostly to defend other people though, so it's justified. The professors are kinda baffled by me. I'm the only one of their students that is a mute so I never get asked questions anymore. They don't say anything to me though on account of my grades and all. My mom does get those sympathetic looks from them on parent evenings and she's always being given therapists cards. I hear her discussing it with Dad a lot but he's not keen on it. Neither am I._

_My Dad's a stubborn guy. Never really bonded with him and he never really bonded with me. He isn't one to show his emotions in public and I have never seen him hug or kiss Mom, but I know he loves her. It's in his eyes. And she is the only one that he gives into, or listens to. He can argue and strut just as much as she can, so they cancel each other out. If that ain't a perfect match, I don't know what is._

_Anyway. There's other stuff about me that I haven't mentioned, mostly because they are just small passing things. Like the fact that I am a junior and still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, or that I have a little sister._*(the way the sentence's built up, it seems like Trunks doesn't know he has a little sister: Like the fact that I am a junior and still don't know what I want to be. Or the fact that I have a little sister.)_ I guess the other stuff you'll find out for yourself later._

_You should probably also know that I resent the fact that guys who keep journals are pansies. Just in case you got that going through you head._

_Trunks_

He shouldn't be reading this. Journals were a private thing, especially to someone so obviously fragile and secretive. But Goten couldn't help it. He may be the 'understanding best friend' but he still wanted to know what the hell was going on inside his friend's head. Trunks had gone out to get cigarettes and left Goten to watch the house. He hadn't meant to find the little black notebook, it was just there when he went into Trunks room to find a lighter and retrieve the evening's film. It hadn't had anything written on the front nor did it look any different from the notebook he used to doodle on in the school cafeteria, so Goten saw no harm in lifting it to take a look. He had wanted to put it down, honest, but he just couldn't.

Gently, he placed the journal back on the nightstand, snatched up the lighter from the desk, retrieved the film from the closet and dashed back to the living room. Luckily Trunks wasn't home yet. He sat down on the couch and waited for his mute friend to return home. Needless to say, his heart was racing in his chest. What if his friend realised he had read his journal? He would freak out and do something stupid. He always did something stupid.

Goten sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Hopefully Tyler Mane as Michael Myers would help to ease Goten's tension. He checked his watch and he realised Trunks could be back any moment. Just then he heard the key turn in the lock.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Sadly, I do not own Dragonball Z. The anime belongs to Akira Toriyama and others.

Warnings: Self Injury, Drug abuse, Rape and Suicide.

Thanks to: Fan-To-Fiction for her being beta to the story.

Chapter 2

After a shopping trip to the mall with some friends, Goten and Trunks went out to 'The Spot'. It was a secluded little meadow with a fast flowing river. The majority of it was sheltered by the large canopies of the evergreens; there was a spring with a small waterfall flowing into it which was a great place to swim because of the intense heat. The sun beamed down on the banks of the spring and was often used by the boys as a 'Sleeping spot.'

Trunks barely had the energy to fly so he and Goten had driven halfway, parked the car and walked the rest. When they finally arrived, Trunks collapsed on the bank, threw his arms behind his head and gazed up at the clouds. Goten stripped and dove into the water.

The sun felt good on Trunks' pale skin. He relished at finally getting to sit down again and had trouble convincing himself not to fall asleep. He hadn't slept last night, nor the night before that and he had problems eating. It wasn't that he didn't want to eat; his body just wasn't accepting the food. 50% of the time he wasn't hungry and the other 50% he just couldn't keep anything but liquids down. It was like his body was just as fucked up as his mind.

He could hear his friend flailing about in the water and diving from the top of the waterfall. But he shut his eyes; it was better to just listen.

Goten came up for air, swam to the bank of the spring and pulled himself onto its fertile soil. A burst of energy dried him of and he padded towards the pile of clothes beside his friend. After he pulled on his boxers, he collapsed on the grass beside him. Trunks opened one eye.

"The water is amazing today." Goten sighed with a smile on his charming young face. He ran his fingers through his long dark hair and tipped his head back to look up at the sky, "Do you want to come in for a swim?"

Trunks closed his eye but didn't reply to his friend.

"You sure?" He gazed down at Trunks.

Goten look at the rolled up arms of Trunks' shirt. Heavy bandages were covering his forearms. Goten pinched the bridge of his nose and chewed on his bottom lip. He didn't want to say anything but he hated staying quiet. He still couldn't understand. Why would Trunks do that to himself? He was an amazing guy, fuck, he used to be Goten's god! It was so hard for Goten to accept this but he did because that's what friends do. No. Not just friends, _best_ friends.

Trunks could sense his friend's eyes upon him, it made him feel uncomfortable from head to toe. He was mentally begging him to lie down. He was afraid that his lack of comfort showed on his face, he wanted Goten to think he was as cool and calm as ever. Cool and calm? He almost laughed at even thinking this. But he didn't.

"Gohan's home today." Declared Goten in a somewhat cheery sing song, "He can't wait to see us! He must look so different now with all the travelling and what not. I wonder if he grew a goatee; you know how he always wanted to grow one but never had the guts! And if he got his lip pierced; he _always_ wanted his lip pierced."

Trunks opened his eyes and grinned. Goten looked down at him dumbfounded with his expression, then the reason struck him.

"No. No, no, no. Your Mom and Dad would kill me for letting you do it." Goten shook his head furiously, "No. Nadda."

Trunks frowned. Goten was right, even if he hated to admit it. His mother had gone mad when she saw his earrings, his eyebrow and his septum. She told him that he was to get no more. Final!

"Maybe we should head back. In case Gohan gets home early. Mom and Dad still have no idea he is coming home, so I guess he will be going to Bulma's first." Goten stood up and pulled on the rest of his garments, "He better have brought me home that tumble weed from the Arizona desert!"

Trunks stretched, pushed himself from the ground and followed his friend through the woods. Goten still talked and Trunks resumed listening. As always.

_5th. Nov. Mon._

_Not much happened today. Went to the mall with Goten and some friends and then he dragged my ass to our spot. I went into the store today, to pick up a coffee and some gum. This guy at the counter, a guy with spiked red hair and a pierced tongue,, was giving me these sympathetic, weird looks. When I went to pay for my goods he said to me, "Dude, you look like you have a lot on your mind." That killed me. Goddamn straight I have a lot on my mind. I just don't know what they are yet._

_Goten, as usual, had all the girls swarming around him like bugs today. I swear to god, they just eat the little fellow up. Anything to keep them away from me. The kid was jittery all goddamn day because his brother was coming home. It was awesome to see him high as a kite. He's awesome when he's high as a kite._

_Gohan left when he was just 16, which was a big thing. His Mom is a complete control freak. He actually should have been 19 at the time, but he was dead for 3 years. Idiot got himself killed. When he came back he was different, I mean his eyes were not his. He wasn't Gohan, but, to tell you the truth, I like him the way he is now. He's dark and mysterious. He has problems with his parents. I can understand him having a icepick for his Mom but not his dad. His dad is a fucking prince._

_Shit. I better not let dad know that._

_Anyway. Gohan used to call my cell when I first stopped talking. He used to try and get me to open my yap, but I just wouldn't. He got pretty upset about it and actually started crying. Gohan wouldn't admit he was crying but I knew. Maybe I don't think about how this affects people around me as often as I should. But I really care, I swear to god I do. It just doesn't matter though._

_The next couple of days will be pretty easy. Mom is heading out of town for a week, Goten is going to be hanging out with his brother and my dad will spend his time in the G.R. I can have some time to myself now. About fucking time._

_It's been three days since I last took a slice out of myself. I have been craving it all day, but couldn't get away for five minutes. I know Goten saw the bandages today; I felt something uncomfortable in the air. He's knows I self mutilate, he knows everything and he doesn't do anything about it. Some would say he doesn't care, but it's not true. He doesn't do anything because he does care._

_It's late. Maybe 1 or 2 in the morning, so I should probably try and get some sleep. I stress the word try. I will most likely fail miserably. At which point I will make coffee, get some water and watch a movie. Or read a book._


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Sadly, I do not own Dragonball Z. The anime belongs to Akira Toriyama and others.

Warnings: Self Injury, Drug abuse, Rape and Suicide.

Thanks to: Fan-To-Fiction for her being beta to the story.

Chapter 3

_6. Nov. Tue. 2am._

_As I mentioned I have a pretty relaxing week ahead. But, I am not a great sleeper so I guess it starts now. I have read several magazines, eaten two yogurts and watched three chick films of my Mom's. I hung out a bit with Bura as well and chewed the fat with her for a while. By that I mean she talked and I listened. She's a great little sister, so smart, so stubborn and so naïve._

_But I have been thinking lately, and trust me; it's not a pleasant thing to do when you are me. It's about what happened._

_I guess I should explain. I was only thirteen and I remember my dad and I used to train every day after I came home from school. He never let up on me, and hell, I loved it. I was a strong kid, a smart kid and a social kid. Girls loved me, but I was only thirteen and saw no point in their uselessness. Guys, I guess, were kind of jealous of me. I'm not saying that in a big headed way but I'm just saying._

_Kami. It's hard for me to even just write about this. Christ, I don't even want to remember it happened._

_A couple of junior school kids, who used the same locker rooms as us, were there one afternoon. They had just finished gym, as had we. As usual I was the longest in the shower rooms (I like to be extra clean when showering, plus I just like the feel of the water on my skin) and all my classmates had left to go home. The water was so loud in my ears that I didn't hear them come in. Kami, when I saw their faces, I saw something that I hope I'll never see again. One of them pushed me against the wall and sneered in my face;_

"_I know what you are, you freak."_

"_What?" I stammered, it was fucking pathetic now that I look back. I should have socked him._

"_My Dad's one of Satan city's top scientists, you know, the genetics lab. Well. He's knows what you are, your race, your powers. Fucking freaks. They should be testing rats like you."_

_He snapped something around my wrist and I could literally feel the energy and power draining from my body. A ki limiter._

_That's when he and his friends beat me up. Nothing out of the ordinary, but I must have broken seven ribs, my ears were ringing for days and my throat was raw with screaming. But no one came._

_Kami. I'm embarrassed to even consider writing the next part of the torture. But I have to, it's just swimming in my head._

_I was so dizzy; I can't remember exactally who it was or how many times. Maybe it was all of them. The bastards fucked me. They fucked me so hard I could barely stand afterwards. When they left, I just lay there and looked at my blood on the floor. I couldn't tell where it was from, there were so many injuries it was impossible._

_I have to stop talking about this. Maybe I will tell you more sometime. Maybe. All I can say is, I know how pathetic it is, a demi being beaten by humans. I was so scared, so fragile afterwards, I couldn't do anything about it. That Ki limiter had permanently affected my powers, my strength had diminished, and even my Dad called me a wimp and weakling after a few more training sessions._

_I didn't tell him and Mom what happened. I guess I have too much pride. No one really knows. Not even Goten._

_Maybe this doesn't seem enough for one person to go crazy, to you maybe not. But Kami, there's more. I don't think I have the strength to write it tonight. Or ever._

Now that Chi-Chi and Goku were aware of their elder son's return, Goten had managed to convince Gohan to stay the night in his old room. Chi-Chi was delighted and even Goku was pleased; best of all Gohan's old hatred for his parents seemed to have diminished slightly. He was more care free, wittier, he smiled a lot more; he just seemed happy.

Goten and him hung out almost all night and watched films. And in the morning the whole Son family sat together while they ate breakfast. Chi-Chi was well prepared with 2nd's and 3rd's; saiyan appetites never ceased to amaze her. After the meal was finished Goku left to spar with Vegeta, as always, while Gohan, Goten and Chi-Chi sat together and talked.

"What did you do when you were away? I missed you so much!" Chi-Chi said, as she laid a hand over his, "I am so glad you are home."

"Mom. I was a rebellious teenager. I just had some jobs here and there, got shit load of money, bought a car and stayed with a friend. I have a job here now as well, so I won't be in your way for long. Just until I can afford the rent for an apartment."

"Sweetie! Stay as long as you want."

"Thanks Mama." Gohan smiled sincerely, then his expression grew sombre,  
" Bulma seems different though. So does Vegeta. Their energy isn't the same. Vegetas stronger but he seems weaker somehow."

"It's because of Trunks." Goten piped in.

" Ah." Gohan sighed and leaned back against his chair, "Explain it then."

"Bulma is very worried about him. Goku also mentioned that Vegeta has been out of focus for a while. He seems quite lost on what to do with his son." Chi- Chi informed.

"How long has it been now?"

"Too long." Goten replied.

"You think he's bad now. No. It'll get worse if he doesn't talk about it."

There was silence at the table. Until Chi-Chi stood up and started to wash the dishes, Gohan also left with Goten at his heels.

Outside the sun was fierce. Gohan flopped down in the shade of his favourite tree while Goten lifted his shirt over his head and lay on his stomach. Gohan found himself admiring his younger brother's tribal tattoos over each shoulder blade; they were in the shape of two wings.

"So where did you go?" Goten asked after a few moments silence.

"Does it matter?" Gohan neglected to look at his younger brother and leaned his head back against the tree's bark, "I went, I saw, I conquered and I got the damn t-shirt. That's the end."

"Yeah. But _where_ did you go?"

Gohan sighed.

"I went south. Okay? I met a girl, we dated for a while. Made some money had different jobs and then I came home. See? Not much to tell."

"What jobs did you get?"

"Bartender, washing cars, filling cars, painting –"

"Painting?" Goten sat up on his elbows, "Since when do you paint?"

"Since I took the job. Never realised it before but I am a fucking good painter. It's been my only job since then. Freelance painting and sketching. In every town I visit, I go to the nearest gallery and ask them if they would like to have a few canvas prints to sell. Damn near always got a yes."

"What sort of stuff do you do?"

"Mostly dark and violent stuff. Others are just portraits and black and white stuff." He sighed, "Look I'll show you some later, but right now can we just chill?"

"Sure sure." Goten lowered himself to the ground.

For a few moments nothing was said between the two Son brothers. Goten rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head. He watched his brother. His hair reached his collar and stuck out at odd angles, his face was squarer, he had stubble on his chin and a ring on the left side of his lip. He seemed taller but thinner at the same time, he was slightly tanned and his white scars stuck out like a sore thumb on his skin. Goten cocked an eyebrow; he had more scars than he remembered.

"What was the girl like?"

Gohan growled and clenched his teeth.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Sadly, I do not own Dragonball Z. The anime belongs to Akira Toriyama and others.

Warnings: Self Injury, Drug abuse, Rape and Suicide.

Thanks to: Fan-To-Fiction for her being beta to the story.

Chapter 4

"Sweetheart." Bulma sang as Trunks entered the large kitchen of capsule corp, "Why don't you come outside and enjoy the sun?"

Trunks shrugged, swung open the fridge and grabbed a bottle of chilled water.

"Oh come on, you are as white as a ghost. You need the sun."

Again Trunks shrugged. Bulma sighed and returned to the back yard. His mother obviously was waiting until the last minute to catch her flight; the damn thing was in four hours and she was outside sun worshipping. The demi saiyan exited the kitchen into the long hallway. As he strolled towards his wing of the building, his litre of water securely in one hand, he gazed upon the pictures lining the walls. They were mostly of him or Bura as a child, occasionally there were some of his mother and father but most of those were kept in the living room or in their wing. He wondered where his mother had gotten her taste for home decorating, it certainly wasn't from his grandmother; her idea of decoration was somewhat 'old fashioned'.

He slowly ascended the stairs, strode to his wing of the house and crept inside. He locked the door behind him. His wing consisted of a living area with a kind of kitchen thing, two large back recliner sofas and a television. All of which he had purchased himself after taking a job in the local sports centre. There were two bedrooms, each furnished with a double bed, chest of drawers, closet and nightstand and there was also a small study room which Trunks used for homework and other such things. Leading off from the living area was a rather large bathroom and at the door there was an area for jackets, shoes and various other items. It was like a small apartment and there were three others in Capsule corp as well. The wing had been given to Trunks of his 15th birthday, not only as a gift but also because his mother felt he could use his own space.

Trunks lifted a large cushion from the couch and went to lie down on the veranda. He curled up on one of the plastic outdoor chairs, positioned the cushion behind his head and nodded of into sleep.

_6. . 11pm._

_I slept from noon until 6pm today. The fresh air on the veranda seems to help me chill out and it meant I could just avoid humanity for a while._

_So I have been thinking about what I wrote this morning, how I told you what happened. It's been playing on my mind all day, like a song on repeat. Other stuff has been as well, like what happened after that and all those stupid mistakes I made. Fuck it though. I could write about the past all damned night and it wouldn't change a thing. There's no point in keeping it locked up anymore, that's the whole point of a journal. Right?_

_I should mention that I changed, seriously changed, but I wasn't a mute at this stage. All through that year of school those bastards continued to abuse me, I just couldn't stop it, and they kept weakening me. First it was just one, and then it grew to two and then three ki limiters. I was powerless and the damage has stayed with me. Physically and Mentally. Anyway, I met this girl a year later. She was so sweet and amazing, she really understood me. I could talk to her and she could talk to me. She was being abused at home and because of it she was very shy around strangers. But you could tell she felt safe with me. We dated until I was 15. Then we broke up. I felt it just wasn't working and at this stage I was already going crazy. So, she swallowed a tub of sleeping pills, followed by a bottle of vodka. Apparently I was the only thing keeping her here._

_But she didn't die the first time. After she was rushed to hospital they threw her into a rest home, not unlike the one from 'Girl interrupted'. That's when she died. I went to visit her and we talked for a while. She cried, and cried. She told me how her Dad beat her senseless for being so stupid, how the people here treated you like a crazy person, how no one liked her and how broken she was. And she was right. She was broken. I told her I would be there for her, that I still loved her and that I was sorry I broke it off. But I just wasn't in the place for a relationship. That night, after lights out, she escaped to the roof and jumped. God knows how she got up there, but Kami, she found a way._

_I haven't spoken ever since I found out. She was the only person I ever confided in. The only girl I ever loved and I ruined her. I killed her. I'm a fucking monster._

Trunks set down the pen on the coffee table. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and pulled his knees to his chest. His heart ached, he heaved as he tried to breathe through the weight on his chest. He just couldn't push it away. It was heavier than him, crushing his lungs and burrowing right into his bones. He was unfeeling. With one last desperate attempt to salvage himself he eagerly reached for his wallet and slipped a straight edge razor from its depth. He clenched his teeth, flexed the muscles in his forearm and slashed the razor's edge across his skin. It burrowed deep into the flesh, the crimson liquid bubbled ,slid down the remainder of his arm and dripped from between his fingers. Blood pooled on the coffee table surface. He sighed with relief and went to work on the other arm. Once he started, he couldn't stop. The feeling was infinite.

Finally he ceased and gazed at his master piece. It was more than he had ever done and the blood had even dripped onto his journal. He cursed to himself, crossed the kitchen and took the roll of tissue paper to clean up the battle field he had created. His flesh throbbed with a dull pain as he scrubbed at the surface of table; he lifted his journal and tucked it under his arm. The table was clean now, but slightly discoloured.

"Trunks?!" There was a strong knock on the door, and suddenly Trunks realised that his stereo was rather loud.

"Boy! Open this damn door!"

It was his father.

Panicking, he dashed to his bedroom and fumbled through the drawers for a long sleeved shirt. He had no time to wipe away the excess liquid. His father hammered and hammered at the door.

"Dammit! Boy open the fucking door!"

Fuck. The blood was staining through. His heart pounded as he searched for a jacket. He heard his father kick open the door.

Quickly he took hold of his jacket and swung it over his shoulders just as his father entered the bedroom.

"Are you deaf?"

Trunks shook his head. He pointed to the bed, indicating that he was asleep. Vegeta growled and narrowed his eyes. His nose twitched. The silence was killing Trunks. Could his father smell the blood? Was it showing through the jacket? Shit.

"Boy," His father finally snapped, "Just turn the fucking racket down."

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed from the wing back to his marital bed.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Sadly, I do not own Dragonball Z. The anime belongs to Akira Toriyama and others.

Warnings: Self Injury, Drug abuse, Rape and Suicide.

Thanks to: Fan-To-Fiction for her being beta to the story.

Chapter 5

It wasn't until the saiyans stopped their sparring that Goku noticed just how exhausted the other man was. Vegeta had deep bags under his eyes and his face held a different sort of anger. The older man had been training more often, barely stopping for a break. He and his wife had also been spending some of their evenings together, talking and spending quality time. Vegeta wasn't one for 'quality time'. But Goku had a feeling that their time wasn't spent indulging in a quickie.

They sat on a bank of luscious green grass. Goku flopped down onto his back and Vegeta, lacking his usual grace, sat beside him. He pulled off his white gloves and ran his fingers through his dark auburn hair. A deep sigh escaped his lungs.

"You okay Vegeta?" Goku asked.

"Hn." Vegeta snorted with all the enthusiasm of a dying dog, "Of course I am Kakarot."

"Sure? You seem exhausted."

"I am _not_ exhausted!" The prince closed his eyes gently, the furrow on his brow deepened, "Not from the spar anyway."

Goku pushed himself up onto his elbows. He looked at the pained expression of his friends face and felt a pang of sympathy for the man.

"Trunks?"Goku asked.

"That obvious isn't it?"

"It hasn't gone unnoticed. We are _all_ concerned."

"Not as concerned as his mother and I Kakarot." Vegeta lifted his head but neglected to look into the younger man's eyes, "He appears to be getting worse each time I look at him. The onna insists he is better off with some space, but I am not so sure. I feel like knocking him senseless, if only it would get him to say _something_."

It was a rare occurrence for the prince to speak to openly about his feelings, so Goku remained silent and kept his hands to himself, in fear of ruining the moment. But he made it clear that he was listening intently as the Prince went on, in little detail, about the obvious changes in his son.

"Well, don't sit there like a baka!" Vegeta snapped, "What the hell are we supposed to do?"

"I'm not a Docter Vege-"

"I know you're not! But you always seem to have the goddamn answer to everything!"

"Vegeta." Goku replied calmly, "You need to start taking him to a doctor." Before Vegeta could protest Goku took grip of both his shoulders, "It is important that you take him to someone who knows what to do. It's the only thing that is going to make anything better."

"You're right Kakarot." The prince pulled away, "Dammit. I wish you weren't right."

"To be fair it isn't me. You both have been getting this advice from people ever since the beginning. But you both wouldn't go for it."

"Neither will Trunks you know? He has more of me in him that you all can tell. I didn't even start to notice until he hit adolescence."

"Yeah. Puberty hormones are a bastard."

The prince chuckled. Something he rarely did.

"I'm glad you told me this Vegeta." Goku said.

The prince stood up and pulled his gloves back on.

"Don't expect it to be a regular thing Baka."

***

Trunks lay spread out on the cool tiles of his kitchenette. He had his shirt off and a pair of white boxers over his legs. His fresh wounds stung from the numbness of the floor, his eyes were heavy with weariness, his limbs felt completely detached from his body and his ears were ringing. His insides were aching, not from the lack of food, but an internal agony of nerves and regret, it weighed a knot inside him and he felt as if he could barely move.

_.--------Bump.----_

His heart was out of beat. First slowly, then rapid palpitations. It was bliss. Agonizing, weakening bliss. He lay still and listened to the sounds of the world around him; dripping taps, barking dogs, the whir of the fridge. He felt for his family's energies, he felt for his neighbours, his dog. He felt for anything and anyone. It was all okay because it was just him behind that piece of locked wood. Him and no one else.

When the sun reached through the balcony's glass doors to where he lay on the floor, Trunks rose to draw the curtains. His movement was sloppy. As he pulled across the fabric, he realized it would be best to throw on some sort of shirt and a pair of jeans; just in case his father broke the damn door again. He had spent all night tampering with it and eventually managed to fix it.

He paced to his bed room and retrieved a pair of faded, worn jeans and an oversized hooded sweat shirt. It was still pretty early out and the young demi-saiyan really had nothing overly amazing to do. Nor did he want to. He just wanted to lay and watch the hours crawl by. So many of his 'friends' on the instant messenger on his computer had emailed him asking to hang out or meet up. Many of them would have gotten an immediate 'Yes' if he would have still been a happy 12-year old. Not now. It was hard enough to just reply to them, let alone hold up a conversation. It just seemed too hard.

In fact, getting up seemed too hard. Watching the day pass by was too hard. Boiling the kettle was too hard. _Everything _was too damned hard.

Trunks flopped onto his bed, rolled onto his stomach and put his head into the crook of his elbow. He may have slept decently yesterday during the day, but somehow he was still exhausted. His head was just so full; there would be no chance of him dropping off with that racket. He turned onto his side and watched the small read hand on his alarm clock make its way slowly around the clock's face.

_. Tue._

_I don't have much to say today. My time has been spent in my room, moping I guess. I don't feel like going out. I have school, but I just can't face it. Not today. Tomorrow, maybe. I doubt it though. Dad told me that tomorrow, I am going. He means it too._

_I am exhausted. My head is pounding. In fact, every goddamn part of my body aches. Dad almost caught me last night; I had a particularly bad episode. Thank kami it's officially winter and it is getting colder. The last bit of autumn summer we got was yesterday. Thank fucking kami. Anyway, my arms look as if I had a fight with a lawnmower. And lost._

_I don't think I can do this anymore. It's too much to keep hiding like this; everything is too much right now. And can't stop goddamn yawning._


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Sadly, I do not own Dragonball Z. The anime belongs to Akira Toriyama and others.

Warnings: Self Injury, Drug abuse, Rape and Suicide.

Thanks to: Fan-To-Fiction for her being beta to the story.

Chapter 6

Vegeta brought Trunks to Orange Star High the next day. Although the prince didn't really care either way if the boy went or not, he needed time to think things over. He was meeting Goku in a coffee shop in the city at noon and he didn't want the boy to get suspicious. As usual the demi saiyan didn't say a word. Worse yet, Trunks looked paler than usual, the bags under his eyes were almost a deep purple, he had bruises on his knuckles and his clothes practically drowned his once muscular frame. Vegeta almost winced when he saw him.

If he was honest, he was a little ashamed. Trunks was the heir of the prince of saiyans after all, he should be strong. But now, he seemed to be getting weaker every day.

Vegeta sat at the table in the cafe, his fingers running over the edges of the coffee mug and his brow furrowed in frustration. It was times like this he really wished his wife were around.

***

Everyone was staring as Trunks walked through the halls. Goten was at his side and compared to the younger saiyan, Trunks looked like a member of the walking dead. Goten was almost 6'0, while Trunks was a mere 5'7. Due to a combination of his genes and lack of proper nutrition. The pair of distressed jeans hung off his waist, the belt had makeshift holes punched into the leather, the shirt was three times too big and the jacket drowned him. He clung to the straps of his backpack, trying to keep it on his shoulders; but it was obvious he was struggling.

"You okay?" Goten asked when they reached their lockers.

Trunks quickly nodded. He placed his bag into the small space and only took out the books for his first few classes. Goten did likewise.

"How about we skip?" The younger saiyan asked.

Again, Trunks shook his head. Goten looked crestfallen.

"Oh come on. You're only missing French and Maths! I'm only missing my German and RE class."

Trunks shook his head again more violently and slammed his locker shut. People around them began to stare. Goten frowned. Trunks narrowed his eyes in an angry expression, gripped his books tightly and immediately walked away from his friend. The younger saiyan stood gobsmacked at his best friend's behaviour. He had never been so aggressive to him outside a spar before, and he never used to turn down skipping classes.

Trunks stormed on, ignoring the whispers and the stares. He kept his head down and his stride as quick as possible. He tried to block out the snide remarks, he tried to convince himself that they didn't hurt.

"Wonder what happened to him?" He heard one girl ask.

"Looks like he threw up half of Wal-Mart!" There was cackle of laughter from the group and Trunks could feel his face blush.

As he came across the boys bathroom he ducked inside, checked no one else was around and locked himself in a cubicle. He could feel the anxiety mounting. His heart began to beat faster in his chest, faster and faster until he felt as if it was going to rip through his flesh. He stumbled and crouched into a tight ball between the toilet and the wall. He could barely breathe. His body was shaking and sweating. Out of nowhere a wave of nausea came over him and he reached over the bowl of the toilet. Thick yellow bile rushed up his throat, it burned and tasted faintly of blood.

What was this?

He had never felt so terrified, so cribbed and confined. He gripped his violet hair. His chest felt too tight; he was choking. But his body felt numb. He didn't feel like he was even in the room anymore. Detached. From himself and reality.

Trunks squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to escape. School had never done this to him. He had gotten up and on with it. Never had he felt so isolated. So afraid of the faces and the voices, the laughter and the names. Tears leaked from the side of his eyes. He felt weak. Helpless and weak.

He was begging for the world just to open up and swallow him whole. That or keep people out of the bathroom.

The bell rang in the hallway and Trunk's heart beat harder. It sent pain through his chest, down his muscles and to the core of his bones. He tried to scream, after so long he finally tried to make a sound but he couldn't. It came out as a harsh rasp; like something dying. He took hold of his throat with one hand, the other still holding his head, and he desperately tried to force out some sort of noise. Anything.

His muscles clenched painfully and he slumped, exhausted against the wall. One hand still in his hair and the other loosely round his throat. He pulled his knees up to his chest. He would stay in the bathroom, until everyone had gone. Then, only then, he could leave.

The demi-saiyan put his head back against the wall and gave a small, defeated whimper.

***

Goku wore a rather distressed pair of denim jeans along with a shirt and jacket. But the best part had to be the knitted, striped scarf and the brown caterpillar boots. Vegeta smirked; Kakarot certainly looked like a convincing human. But then again, so did he, in his black jeans, boots, and flannel shirt. It wasn't a strange sight to see the two saiyans in human clothing these days, apart from when they were training. Yes, they had certainly blended in in civilian life.

The coffee shop was like it always was when Vegeta and Bulma visited it; full of intellectual couples discussing important issues and books. The prince spied Goku in a booth near the window and so he crossed the shop to the secluded corner.

"Hey Vegeta. Take up a pew so we can get drinks." Goku smiled.

A young woman approached to take their order and Goku politely asked for an extra large hot chocolate with sprinkles. And marshmellows. Vegeta, much to the womans distaste, ordered vodka on the rocks. Drinking was a habit of his these days.

They held off talking until their orders arrived in fear of being overheard.

"Have you talked to him yet?" Goku asked when the woman strode away.

Vegeta stared into his vodka glass solemnly, "No. I can't bring myself to do it."

"You have to." He watched as the prince threw the vodka back with one gulp, "You're not going to find the answer at the bottom of the glass."

"I might." Vegeta attempted a smirk, "There is a story at the bottom of this glass and I am the pen Kakarot."

Vegeta ordered another. Goku frowned when it was set in front of him and he knocked it back before the waitress could even leave.

"Sir. Would you like me to leave the bottle?" She asked after he ordered a third.

Vegeta nodded and so it was done. She left. Goku stirred his drink with the small stick supplied, he picked the marshmellows out with his fingers and licked the foam from his fingers. Vegeta poured a fourth glass, but did not drink it immediately. He simply stared into its clear surface.

"I have been drinking too often." He whispered.

"Yes. It hasn't gone unnoticed."Goku snapped.

Vegeta glared at him, but he couldn't even muster the strength to seem frightening. It just wasn't like him. Goku suddenly felt a pang of quilt for being so angry with him. Could you really blame him for drinking? His son was wasting away, he was disappearing from them and they couldn't help him.

"Vegeta. I'm sorry."

"No. You are right baka. I hate to say it but you are." The prince lowered his head, "I have an idea. The woman won't like it and neither will the boy. But it has to be done."

"Go on."

"Take him to the doctor, if it doesn't help then put him into a hospital. Just for a while. It may help him, it may not but it's a last resort."

Goku remained silent.

"It's a bad idea isn't it?" Vegeta put his head in his hands, "I'm such a baka."

The prince never used to doubt himself like this, never so badly. Goky laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Discuss it with Bulma. Then, come to me and Chi-Chi. We will figure something out, a plan of sorts. We will do anything we can to help Vegeta."

The prince looked up at the younger man; he looked weary and defeated. His skin was unhealthily pale from worry, his eyes didn't hold the same pride as before nor did his stance. He attempted a smile.

"Do you want to help me finish of my bottle?" he said.

Goku laughed. His friend had a hell of a way of saying thank you.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Sadly, I do not own Dragonball Z. The anime belongs to Akira Toriyama and others.

Warnings: Self Injury, Drug abuse, Rape and Suicide.

Thanks to: Fan-To-Fiction for her being beta to the story.

Chapter 7

_Jesus. Today was a fucking failure. I don't know what the hell happened! I had some sort of trip. School has never had that affect on me. Never! I just crouched into a corner of a cubicle and…Kami! It's blurred even now._

_I got out of there as fast as hell. Been hiding in my room ever since. Dad wasn't home, thank fuck, but he'll kill me. The school will call him._

_I'm going to give it one more try, on Saturday at the mall. Public places have never terrified me so much before. I need to get a grip of myself._

_Where the fuck is my goddamn blade?!_

Vegeta hung up his cell and grunted angrily.

"That was the school." He snapped, "Trunks didn't turn up."

"Are you sure? Goten texted me and told me he was in." Goku replied.

They were still sitting in the coffee shop. Goku was on his third hot chocolate and Vegeta had switched to black coffee after his second bottle of vodka. The alcohol hadn't even phased the prince at all.

"He must have slipped out sometime during the morning." Vegeta sighed.

"Do you think he went home?"

"Most likely. But he will be locked up in that wing of his."

"So? Just break the door down."

"What for?" Vegeta leaned across the table, "The boy won't talk. So there is no point in interrogating him. If he doesn't want to go to school, I can't force him."

"Vegeta! That's not like you. Give the kid the old one-two."

"Kakorat, I couldn't." Vegeta stared up at his friend through tired eyes, "I haven't got the heart."

Goku frowned. This _really_ wasn't his friend. This fiasco with Trunks had taken its toll on the prince more so than he first thought. For a moment he brushed his knuckles against the rough stubble on his chin; pondering of a way to help.

Vegeta continued to drink his black coffee solemnly. His chin unshaven and lips parted slightly in a small, private, sigh.

"Gohan." Goku annoced, "Maybe he could help?"

"Kakarot. Your son was messed up when he was a teenager but he never was as bad as this."

"No. But what I understand from Chi-Chi is that he was very temperamental and depressed. He couldn't bear to be around his family and so he spent most of his time in his room or roaming the streets."

"He did." Vegeta paused, "But, come on. You remember being an adolescent? Preaching falls on deaf ears."

"Give it a try."

There was silence as Vegeta contemplated his situation. If he left it Trunks could get worse. If he took a chance Trunks could get worse. It was risky either way.

"Wait until his mother gets home Kakarot." He finally said, "The onna should be present before any decisions are made."

"But it's a possibility? You might take up the offer?"

"Yes. Okay." The prince folded his arms on the table top and placed his head on top, "I definitely need another drink."

Goku called over a waitress and ordered another shot of vodka.

Trunks turned the living room into a bomb site. Cushions on the floor, chairs over turned, magazines and books thrown everywhere. The bed room and study were in the same state. Currently, he was raiding the bathroom, bottles of aspirin and aftershave were all removed from the medicine cabinet.

All because he had lost his goddamn blade. Not just any of his blades; his favourite blade.

Frustrated he couldn't help but hoarsely growl. He flopped down on the bathroom tiles and banged his fists on the cold surface. His chest was still painful from earlier and his head was still spinning somewhat; but it all didn't matter. Not until he got his fucking blade.

It was somewhere, it always ended up somewhere. As long as it was in this fucking wing, Trunks could find it. If not he was fucked.

As he moved his arms, the fabric caught on his skin and it seared with pain. He gently removed his jacket to reveal the t-shirt underneath. Slowly he pushed himself from the floor. As he glanced in the mirror he realised how thin his arms had become, how tired his eyes were and how prominent the fine scars were against his pale skin. He looked like a butchered ham.

The fabric caught on the skin of his bicep again and he gently rolled up the short sleeve to find the culprit. There, between two silver lines, were a series of small, but deep, wounds. Dried blood was circled around them, which was what the fabric had caught on, but the spongy, discoloured flesh of the arm could be seen within the cuts. The blood was darker inside; almost a black colour.

Trunks flushed. When had he done this? Then he realized it was probably during his 'episode' earlier. He shrugged; nothing to worry about really, all he had to do was wrap them up. So he proceeded to do so in the ruins of his living area, with 'Trent Reznor' singing his heart out on the stereo.

Gohan had been working outside in the garden of the Son household for most of the day. He had his easel set up, his paints sitting on the picnic table and his subject selected; the woodland. Yes, he would paint the woodland, but what dark secret would he hide within its beautiful and vibrant depths? That was the nature of the young artist's work; all his paintings, no matter how pretty, had a hidden meaning. Dark, depressing, anguish meanings were his specialty though.

It was partway completed, the wood was painted in a darker green than it was with hints of red within the leaves. Shadows had also been exadurated. Gohan packed up his stuff and returned to the warmth of the house. His mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner for the return of her youngest son from school.

Gohan placed his stuff in the closet by the door.

"Mom." He said as he strode back to the kitchen, "Do you need help cooking dinner?"

Chi-chi turned to stare at her eldest.

"You cook?" she asked.

"Do you want me to cook?"

"Em." The woman hesitated, "Sure."

"Then I cook." Gohan advanced forward to the counter and took the chopping knife from his mother, "Sit down Mom. Take a break."

She reluctantly sat at the kitchen table and watched as her eldest flexed his cooking muscles. He made her a cup of coffee as he waited for the vegetables to boil and washed the dishes as he went along. He looked as if he had been doing this all his life.

"You learnt a lot while you were away." Chi-chi exclaimed.

"Yeah."

"We were keeping you back." She lowered her head, "You have done better without us."

"No Mom. No. I just needed space." Gohan turned to face his mother, "I was hurting everyone around me when I was here. When I left, no one knew me. So, I had no one to hurt."

"You have gotten so much better." Chi-chi continued.

"I went to see a doctor." Chi-chi looked up at her son with a confused expression, "I was seriously unhappy Mom. I went to see him a year after I left. He talked to me a few times a week for fourteen months. I learnt how to not beat myself up so much and just take it easy. I learnt how to be happy and content with what I have."

"You saw what I never could Gohan. You had the maturity and the sense to go to a doctor. You were only seventeen too, which is very impressive." Chi-chi drained her mug, "Have you ever thought about a career in psychology?"

"Yeah. I took a course. It's cool but I couldn't do it for a career. I'm happy to paint."

Gohan turned back to his cooking while his mother silently watched on. Her son had grown into a young man; without her. She felt left out but proud that he was able to do so on his own. All of the studying, chores and training, issued by his father at a young age, had paid off.

"You know, I go down to the art gallery sometimes. There's an artist there, apparently his stuff was imported from other states, they are just prints though, nothing huge. They are amazing though, very emotional and dark; very true." Gohan stopped chopping at his mother's words, "He signs his name with just a 'G' in the corner. It makes me proud, when I look at them, to know that _he_ is my son."

"How did you figure that out?"

"Because, I remember your drawings when you were fourteen, they were all similar to the paintings in the same painful way." She smiled, "I am glad you found something to take the anger out on Gohan."

"Yeah?" Gohan chuckled, "You should buy some of the larger prints I left yesterday then, I could use the money."

Chi-chi laughed, "You won't need the money soon."

"You're right. I get enough from my other pieces –"

"No. No. Gohan, you're over 18. You have a right to your inheritance now, and your disused collage fund."

Gohan turned, stunned, to look at his mother. He was joking when he said he needed the money, he was already pretty rich from the paintings. He just hadn't moved yet because he was still finding his feet back in Satan city.

"You can get that little loft you want in town. And as many hookers as you want."

He blushed a shade of pink at his mother's forwardness. Who needs hookers? Callgirls were more his thing.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Vegeta didn't as much as set foot near Trunks' wing. He got Bura out of bed, ready for school and watched her leave on the bus. She sat up in the back seat of the yellow vehicle and waved at him from the window; he waved back.

The house was silent, save for the occasional bark of the Brief's dogs and the soft thump of Trunks' music. Vegeta sighed and flopped down on the sofa. He switched on the television for company.

Before long he was bored and, instead, rang the Son household.

"Hello?" the phone was answered on the fourth ring.

"Goku?" Vegeta said, "I've left the boy to his own devices in his wing. I'm going to call his mother and consult her on this doctor thing. Or on Gohan."

"I thought the agreement on Gohan saved you getting a doctor?"

"Fine." Vegeta snapped, he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Either way, I'm calling his mother. She'll want to speak to Gohan."

"I haven't asked him yet!" Goku replied, "Look don't do anything. I'll bring round there after lunch, and we'll discuss it. Then you can call Bulma."

Goku quickly bid goodbye to the prince and hung up. Vegeta settled back into the couch.

Gohan wasn't convinced. His father sat alongside the prince and had blatantly asked him to council Trunks. They had explained their plan but had still failed to convince the young saiyan. He leaded back and put his hands behind his head.

"I don't think I am the best person to talk to Trunks." Gohan said.

"Come on Gohan. You've been there. You can help him." Goku replied.

"What if I fuck it up?"

"You won't."

"You even said yourself; you have had the experience of a physiatrist and have a degree in it." Vegeta sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, "Gohan, I need this from you. Fuck what the boy needs, his mother and I need this."

Gohan fisted his fingers into his hair and massaged his temples. Should he talk to the younger saiyan? Could he really help him? Fuck, it had taken him long enough to help himself. He still had days when he felt so depressed and lost that he could barely bring himself to move. The ache never went away; he couldn't lie to Trunks and tell him that it could.

He chewed his lip, "Okay. I'll do it."

Goku and Vegeta smashed their hands together in a high five. Gohan slumped back against the seat. Goku reached forward and patted his son's knee.

"You're doing the right thing." He cooed.

"Yeah yeah." Gohan swatted his father's hand away, stood up and forced his hands into the pockets of his jacket, "I'll be back this afternoon to speak with him. The first session should be up in his wing, the surroundings are familiar and he won't feel intimidated. We'll play it by ear after that." He sauntered towards the door, his head hanging down, and left.

Goku turned to the prince, "You look like hell. Go and get some sleep."

"I can't."he sighed.

"Gohan has agreed to speak to Trunks. Stop worrying and try and catch forty winks."

Vegeta got up from the sofa and lifted the cordless phone.

"Put on the television Kakorot. I'll call my wife and then we can watch a DVD or something. I'm not in the mood to spar today."

He abruptly left the living room.

.

It's colder today. A lot colder. My heavy duvet isn't even keeping me warm. Damnit. I tried to eat breakfast this morning, well, that went up in smoke. Within the hour after my meal, I was painfully reacquainted with it. I swear the inside of my stomach is ripped to shreds.

My Dad has given up. At least I think so. He didn't come near me this morning for school. Thank Kami. Goten has been texting me all morning wondering where I am. I hate doing this to him, he is my best friend and the only one I really have. But I can't bring myself to see him. He can't see me like this. An excuse for a human; a disgrace of a Saiyan.

Lying on my mattress at night, trying to sleep, is uncomfortable. Even my couch is uncomfortable. My bones are too prominent and it hurts to lie down. My wounds aren't healing as well either. They are getting infected a lot and bruises are appearing all over my skin with the slightest of bumps. Finally, I can barely keep my eyes open, but I can never get so settled as to sleep and I am suffering from continuous headaches and dizzy spells.

This is no way to live. Cribbed and confined, aching continuously; my voice has even given up on me. How that does even happed? Can your voice leave after not being used for so long? If so, I have really screwed up this time.

Bulma was pleased, to say the least, that Gohan had taken it upon himself to speak with her son. She called Gohan immediately after speaking to Vegeta and Goku; she was in tears of joy. Over reacting much? Gohan had sat with his with his head in his hands, nodding and 'mmmhmm'ing on queue. Eventually she hung up and he was left to trail after his own thoughts. His guilt at evening considering such a crazy offer. He glanced up at the clock placed above the door of city hall and sighed, realising he only had forty minutes to be back at the Brief's household. Solemnly, with knots twisting in his stomach, he lifted his jacket and strode from the city center.


	9. Chapter 9

Trunks was huddled into an oversized hooded sweatshirt and a pair of distressed jeans. He was lodging on his living room couch, his arm draped over the side and the radio remote in his hand. One arm was draped over his eyes and his bare feet jigged along with the droning voice of Brian Molko. The song was somewhat sombre but just happened to be a personal favourite of Trunks'.

"Trunks?" His father's deep voice could barely be heard over the music, "Trunks?"

The young saiyan sighed, switched off the stereo and went to open the door. His father was stood, along with Gohan, in the dim hallway. Vegeta stood out of Gohan's way.

"Can I come in Trunks?" He asked.

Trunks cocked an eyebrow but slowly nodded his head. He closed the door gently behind the older man. Gohan glanced around as he made his way to the living room. There he sat in a single arm chair. Trunks perched on the couch and watched him.

"Trunks. You're probably wondering why I'm here." Trunks shrugged, Gohan continued, "I'm going to be working with you for the next while. Your father and mother feel that it would be appropriate for you to speak with someone you know, and has been there, rather than a stranger."

Trunks didn't seem amused. He stood up and shook his head.

"What? You want to continue on like this?"

The young man stopped. He lowered his head, paced towards the window and looked out across the lawn. Gohan sat back and crossed one long leg over the other. He watched as the younger saiyan mused over his proposal.

"We can try it. For a while. If you feel it doesn't help we can stop and you can go to a regular doctor."

Trunks turned back to Gohan and shook his head again. He reached for a note pad sitting on the coffee table, scribbled something on it and gave it to Gohan.

'I don't want to go to a doctor.'

"Okay. Well I'm not a doctor, but I have experience and I don't judge. You can tell me anything, and you don't have to talk right away."

Trunks took the pad, scribbled and passed it back.

'I don't think I can talk about it. I am beyond help.'

"You're not you know." Gohan sighed, "Trunks, I'll make you a deal. Whatever we talk about in this room is confidential. Anything. I'll talk too." The younger saiyan slowly approached and sat down, Gohan continued, "I saw a doctor for a while, and then I got a degree. The guy helped, but I still have bad days. If I'm honest I could do with more help. So, that's why I propose that, I will help you and you will help me. We can get better together."

Trunks looked down at the floor, his hand unconsciously scratching at his arm. Gohan glanced down at the vicious lines appearing on the skin.

"I won't keep anything from you as long as you don't hold back on me. And I certainly won't make any promises I can't keep." He reached out his hand, "So, Do we have a deal?"

Trunks hesitated before reaching out and shaking Gohan's outstretched hand.

"Good. That's excellent." Gohan beamed, "Shall we begin?"

10 Nov.

So, they sent in the one person who I consider to be just as screwed up as me. Shit. Dad couldn't take my 'oath of silence' anymore and Mom was just sick of me walking around like a freakin zombie. Or so I think.

To be honest, I would rather talk to Gohan than some stranger. We didn't start straight away. Gohan just talked and explained how things would work. I signed a few hand written documents; you know, the usual stuff. I still am not overly happy with the idea though. Gohan wants me to start speaking again, in my own time, but I would rather not. I don't think I even can!

And the cutting myself and eating problems? Well he doesn't have a clue about that yet. But I have a feeling it will come up in the next session. Whenever the fuck that will be.

Jesus. The guy even admits that he is still screwed up himself, so, why the fuck is he trying to help me? It doesn't make sense. It's like the blind leading the blind. He also mentioned something about my lack of speech. Elective mutism or something. He is going to talk more about it next time. Maybe I should record this stuff, it could be useful.

Goten has been asking question too. He never used to but since his brother came back and since Dad started hanging out with Goku outside sparring, he has changed. Pushing me and questioning me. Fuck. Now I have no one to trust or just hang out with. No one who is content with my silence.

Fuck them anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

Letting go of the person you love is possibly one of the hardest things you will ever have to do. It's even harder when it is for all the right reasons but seems so wrong. He was a mess, he knew this and everyone around him knew this. He drank until the bar began to spin, he smoked until his lung hurt, he did any drugs going just for the kick and yet she had stood by him and begged him to stop. He was supposed to be getting better after all. But, in reality, he was surviving.

After a year and two months they broke up. He had come home blocked one evening and beaten her black and blue. That was when she threw in the towel and ended it. The break up tore him to pieces but she couldn't deal with his reluctant attitude anymore. He thrived of drugs, drink and sex. When he was sober he was the nicest guy anyone could ask for, but he was never sober for long.

She left and got on with her life. Recently she settled down and got married to a guy with a briefcase full of money, or so he had heard. The images of her, lying there beaten and weak, were burned into his skull as a permanent reminder. The reminder of why he had to keep going and had to keep sober.

His heart ached as he remembered her, his stomach heaved and his chest closed in. He loved her god –damn it. And he blew his chance. For that, he hated himself. Watching happy relationships and the affection they held for each other made him want to die. He had been a beast to her and in the end, he lost her.

Here he sat, at Bulmas kitchen table, with a large mug of coffee in front of him. Gohan could really have done with a glass of Jack's, anything remotely alcoholic, but he had made a promise. And this time, he had to keep it.

It was their first real session, and Trunks was nervous as hell. Gohan sat across from him, a cigarette and pen in one hand and a notepad in the other. The younger saiyan wasn't ready to hand over his journal, nor was he ready to speak; so the time passed quietly.

Gohan checked his wrist watch, "It's been fifteen minutes. Do you have nothing you want to tell me?"

Trunks shook his head and looked down at his feet.

"Fine. I'll take this opportunity to talk then. Anything you want to tell me just make a hand gesture or something." Gohan paused and took a deep breath, "Elective mutism. I suppose I should explain to you what that is. It can happen to both children and adults and the individual fails to speak in certain situations. However, Trunks, you fail to speak period."He looked at Trunks, but the boy failed to meet his gaze, "Emotional trauma is the cause of the disease or social anxiety. But they are basicly the same thing if you think about it."

Trunks lifted his pad of paper and quickly scribbled something down. He handed it to Gohan.

(But I don't want to speak. When I try to, though, I can't)

"Yes. Well. That's strange but it's not uncommon. You muscles have been out of use for so long that, they are going to require regular exercise to get working again."

Trunks took the paper again, scribbled and passed back.

(How long?)

"I don't know. It's different for every person."

The younger saiyan nodded and glanced back at his feet. He scratched at his wrist again, his usual response to anxiety. Gohan watched him.

"This actually brings me to another point." He cleared his throat and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "Do you harm yourself?"

Trunks stopped scratching but didn't look up.

"If you do, I won't think any less of you. And I won't tell your parents. It's between you and me. But you have to promise to stay safe. Okay?"

The boy nodded.

"Good." Gohan stood up and smiled down at Trunks, "Next, I want to know about your weight loss." He pointed his finger threateningly, "And not bullshit."


	11. Chapter 11

I don't even know what date it is. Hours are running into each other, days turning into weeks. How long have I locked myself in here? How many times has Gohan shouted through the door and pleaded with me. I eventually had to turn my cell off.

Nothing really triggered it. That evening, after Gohan had left, I just watched a little t.v and drank a bottle of vodka I stole from Dad's stash. I just decided that I can't do this talking; it's to invasive. Sure, I was up for it but it will really do no good. Who cares anyway? Why should anyone? It's my problem, my body; my mental state. Not theirs. It's up to me to sort out this problem. Me and no one else.

Sometimes I don't want to give up though. I just want to keep quiet for the rest of my life, stay away from humanity and just do what my mind tells me to. If that means I die from starvation or from suicide; then so be it.

I've had enough of this god-damn shit. Living is too hard; dying is the fucking easy part.

Trunks sighed and stood up from the table. With a surge of anger he smashed his fist into a wall. His weakened muscles ached and his knuckles were grazed from the brick work; but nothing was broken. The young saiyan collapsed to the ground, hopeless and defeated.

He mouthed the words 'I can't do this anymore' over and over but no sound came out. He couldn't tell which emotion was worse; the anger or the intense sadness.

He furiously got to his feet and threw things from the shelves. He smashed the chairs and trashed everything remotely breakable.

The sound of stumbling feet and concerned voices could barely be heard over the din. His mother, now home from her trip, was screaming through the door.

Trunks sat in the middle of the mess, a tub of analgesics in one hand and a half bottle of vodka in the other. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to stop the tears as he took each pill, one at a time,and chased each with a swing of alcohol. He counted from 40 down to just 1.

Trunks' vision became blurred and he so desperately wanted to sleep. He fell back against the back of the couch, settled into the soft cushions and started at the wall ahead. Colours swirled in front of his eyes, butterflies were dancing in his stomach and he got that familiar watery feeling he always got when nauseous. But it all felt good. It all felt real.

"What the hell are we going to do?" Bulma asked her husband.

Vegeta sat up right, his elbows resting on his knees and his brow furrowed. Bulma knew her stubborn husband enough to know when he was thinking; and thinking damn hard. The man was deeply concerned; there was no doubt about that. He, Goku and Gohan had all become closer over the recent weeks and had discussed every possible angle for dealing with Trunks. But yet, the saiyan still pondered; like a scientist trying to find the meaning of life.

He glanced up at her, "Perhaps we give him space?"

"No. No way. We gave him enough space. We need to get through to him!"

"Alright."

That was it. His simple, 2 syllable reply; Alright. In the past the prince would have fought to get his own way, he would have blasted down his son's door, took his by the shirt collar and shook sense into him. But he obviously saw the pain and the horror of the situation. He understood that violence would not answer this question.

There was a loud bang up stairs, directly towards Trunks' wing. Everything was silent for a few moments, then the smashing and crashing of furniture started. Bulma ran from the room, closely followed by Vegeta, and dashed towards her son's wing.

"Trunks!!" She yelled, "Trunks are you okay?"

More thundering.

"Trunks!" Vegeta hammered on the door.

Bulma placed a hand on his shoulder, "No. Don't knock it in. We should get Gohan."

"We should call a fucking asylum." Vegeta snapped.

"Vegeta! Don't talk like that. We are not putting our son into a mental institute."

"I didn't mean for him onna, I meant for me." Vegeta sighed and took out his cell phone, "I'll call the boy. You stay here."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 13

The image of Trunks collapsed on the floor was burned into Vegeta's skull like a sick tattoo. His son was lying in the middle of broken material, his fist were bruised and grazed and his arms had been littered in scars and fresh wounds. Beside his lifeless body was a pool of his own liquid vomit. Gohan had rushed to his aid.

"Call 911!" He yelled and Bulma reacted.

Vegeta simply stood and watched the terror unfold before him. He had never seen anything like it. Gohan pinched at the boy's wrists, then at his neck, searching for vitals. He spoke but Vegeta could barely hear over the ringing in his own ears. How could his wife be so calm about this? Their son had done this to himself. Suicide. Only something the prince had read about in books and seen on TV; Maybe that's why it scared him so much.

Now, sitting in the family room at the hospital, Vegeta buried his head in his hands. Goku sat beside him, Bulma sat by Chi Chi and Gohan and Goten were outside; the elder brother had rightfully deserved a cigarette. Goku patted the princes back.

"It's okay. It will be okay." He assured, but Vegeta didn't want to grasp the false hope.

Bulma was crying into Chi Chi's shoulder. Kami, how Vegeta wished he could do the same but it was not the time. Seeing her strong and stubborn husband break down would, no doubt, scare the woman even more.

Truth be told Vegeta was tired. He no longer cared about himself nor did he care about his 'pride', his son was hurting and he wanted, no he needed, to help him.

"What the hell happened?" Vegeta asked quietly, "He was supposed to be improving, your son said that himself."

"I know. But these things happen."

"But why, Kakorot? Why do they happen?"

"You're better to ask my son that question." Goku looked away and gazed down at the top of his boots, "Humans are made up differently than us."

"Not so differently. We still have the same hormones in our bodies, if not a little more testosterone and oestrogen."

"Yeah. I know." He leaned over Vegeta, "Look, "he whispered, "Let's not discuss this here. Bulma is right over there."

Vegeta nodded and stared into the distance. The door of the room suddenly opened and the Son brothers entered. The smell of stale smoke hung around Gohan.

"I spoke to Trunk's doctor. They've pumped his stomach and hooked him up to life support. The next 48 hours are extremely circuital." Gohan sighed and leaned against the door frame.

"So. We wait here?" Bulma sobbed.

"No. We go home. They'll call us if anything happens."

Bulma nodded solemnly as Chi Chi gently pulled her up by the elbow. Vegeta stood to his feet and exited the room ahead of the group. Goku sprinted to catch up with the prince.

"What now?" Goku asked.

"I don't care what you do, Kakorot, but I'm going for a drink."

"Vegeta is beating himself up over this." Goku sighed.

He sat by his eldest son on the porch of the family home. The sun was long gone and only the glittering stars cast specs of light onto the ground. Gohan had a cigarette between his fingers and a cup of coffee by his side.

"Have you tried talking to him? Telling him that it wasn't his fault?" Gohan asked.

"No. But I think I need to convince you first."

"What do you mean?" The younger saiyan took a drag on his cigarette.

"It wasn't your fault either you know?"

"I never said it was."

"No, but it doesn't take a genius to see that you're blaming yourself."

"I should have seen it. There were so many signs and yet I did nothing." Gohan ran his fingers through his hair; the smouldering tip of the cigarette held safely from his scalp, "I felt like I was looking at myself when I saw him on the floor like that."

Goku remained silent. He lifted a stone from the ground and skimmed it across the grass. It hurt to know that his son had perhaps felt like Trunks at one stage and it terrified him to know that Gohan had more secrets to hide from the; Kami knows what they are. His eldest sat there, staring a head at the dense forest. Ash dropped from his cigarette on to the leg of his pants but he didn't so much as flinch.

"I'm sorry, son." Goku whispered, "If I hadn't of been such an idiot and left you for all those years, you wouldn't have gone through that."

"Don't be sorry. It's in the past now Goku. I doubt even you could have stopped me from my downward spiral."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Gohan stood up and turned towards the door way. He flicked the butt onto the porch.

"No." his tone was harsh and final.

With that he retreated inside, leaving his father to sit alone in the dark.

Self mutilation. It was a funny thing. Piercings, smoking, drinking ect were all self mutilation but they were accepted by society. So, why not deliberate cutting? Or burning? What really was the difference?

Goten mused over the question, turning it over and over in his mind. He twirled a drumstick between his fingers as he mused. The younger son did not harm himself in the way that Trunks did but that didn't mean he was blind to it. In fact, he did self mutilate but in an entirely different way and, if he was being honest, a worse way. Heroin. His job at the local leisure plex kept him well paid which in turn kept him well supplied. When stressed or just suffering from cravings, he would shoot up. However, the affects were beginning to show.

Like Trunks, he too had lost significant weight, mostly because of the lack of appetite that comes with a heroin addiction. He also slept little and could go no more than 14 hours without a hit. The crook of his elbow was covered in small bruises where the needle had continually pierced his skin and his muscles felt inflamed, as if they were burning.

So, yes. He understood about self mutilation. The pair of them, together, could fill a nut house with enough trouble to do a life time. He knew this. But it was nothing new. Trunks and he had experimented with all sorts of things from the ages 11 to 13. They had smoked, drank and done drugs together. They were just destined to be trouble makers; it was in their blood.

But overdosing? Suicide? It had never crossed the younger mans mind. Especially not Trunks. Not even in the last few years, months or weeks had it so much as flashed a single alarm bell in his mind. And for that, he hated himself.

Growling, he crawled down onto the floor and retrieved and box from under his bed. He used his leather belt to clamp his bicep and pumped his fist a few times to raise a vein. His hands were shaking as he filled the syringe with the clear liquid. Biting his lip, he carefully pierced the skin with the pointed tip and sighed as he watched his blood mix with the liquid in the syringes container.

"Trunks," He thought, "Oh what fuck ups we are."


	13. Author note

Hey guys !

I was just thinking that – any comments you happen to have on the story; I would really appreciate you to voice them on my blog (URL in profile.).

Your support means the world to me and any tips of great DBZ fan fictions out there is always welcome.

Who knows, you may find something else you like on my blog.

Thanks again – Nyx.

I will still post the chapters here BTW, but I would prefer comments to be on my writing archive blog.


	14. Chapter 13

Chap 13

When I woke up everything was different. My body didn't feel like it was mine. I watched doctors and nurses come and go, checking my vitals and talking hastily to each other. My throat felt like I had swallowed a packet of razor blades. Eventually they realised that I was, in fact, conscious and they set about asking me stupid questions like 'Are you okay?' and offering to bring in my family.

Of course I didn't answer. Am I okay? What a stupid question to ask someone who had just tried to kill themselves.

A doctor gave me a long lecture on how stupid and selfish I was. It really didn't do anything for my self esteem. He went into great detail about what they had to do to my stomach, how my parents were reacting and how I could have done serious damage. To be perfectly honest, I barely heard a word of it; I cared more about world peace than what he had to say.

"And you had better start eating! You are much too thin for a seventeen year old boy." The doctor pointed his finger at me.

I shrugged; he obviously thought I had some sort of eating disorder. If he took the time to examine me, like doctors were supposed to, he would have come across signs that my stomach was in shit order. But no. That was too much like hard work.

Eventually he left. I mused over everything that had lead to this and, if I am bluntly honest, I felt a pang of regret. Regret that I did this and regret that it didn't work. Funny, isn't it? I felt rather pissed with whom ever had found me ; they had broke into my wing and brought me back from the brink. It was obvious that I was a burden, so why didn't they just let me die?

I thought about her too. I was lying where she had lay, feeling as she must have felt; the same, but completely different. If I had died, would I have met her again? My heart began to ache as I remembered all the memories we made together and I longed to be with her. She was my first love. She made me feel something that I had never felt before and the hardest thing was trying to get over her. It was love, I am sure of it, and I never want to do it again.

"Mr Briefs." A nurse waltzed through the door, "It's time for your tests."

I sighed. Time for the highlight of my day.

Vegeta put the phone back onto the receiver and lent back against the counter. Bulma watched her husband from where she sat at the kitchen table.

"The boys awake." The sayian prince announced solemnly.

"Oh thank kami." Bulma sighed.

She buried her face in her hands and allowed her shoulders to sag with relief. The prince sat beside her, drained the remainder of his whiskey and poured another. Bulma removed her hands and peered at him. His drinking was beginning to scare her.

"Vegeta, don't you think you've had enough? It's your third bottle."

"I'm fine, woman. The alcohol doesn't intoxicate me until at least my 5th bottle."

"But your liver…"

"_My_ liver is fine!"

Bulma didn't fight with him. At any other time she would have pried the bottle from his hands and demanded that he stop. Instead, she burst into tears. Her nerves could no longer take conflict from anyone.

Vegeta put down his glass and took hold of his wife's hand. He squeezed it tightly in his own.

"Wo – Bulma. Please don't cry." He cooed softly, "I'm an ass, ignore me."

She pulled him closer and rested her head on his shoulder. Vegeta flinched at the sudden contact, but he gave into his affection and wrapped his muscular arms around Bulma's body. He stroked her hair as she wept and chucked when she apologised for getting mascara on his t-shirt. Like he cared about the damn shirt.

He heard footsteps behind him and his little girl climbed up onto his knee.

"Daddy, is Trunks going to be okay?" she asked.

He looked down into her wide, blue eyes and put an arm around her small shoulders.

"Don't worry."

Bura snuggled against her father's chest. The remainder of the Brief's family sat in the kitchen for well over an hour; the women being held against the man's body. Each holding the other together.


	15. Chapter 14

"I need more." Goten gripped the older teen by the shoulders, "Please. I'll pay you later. Double."

The dank apartment was in possibly one of the shadiest parts of town. It was safe in the fact no one knew Goten, let alone his family. Although the knife crime and violence was on the rise. Goten's dealer took resident in this apartment. The teen was merely 16 years old, released from his family by the government and made his living by dealing drugs. Goten barely knew his name, nor was it all that important; as long as he got his fix.

"Man, you know I can't do that. Not again." The dark haired boy struggled against his grip.

"It's been 19 hours. I – I thought I had enough but I didn't." He was shaking so much he could no longer hold on.

He fell against the wall of the shabby apartment and slumped to its dusty floor. The boy, whom was of fellow age, sighed and reached into his jean pocket. He produced small sac containing white tablets.

"Here." He threw it to Goten, "Take this. You can have it for free until you have money to pay for your usual fix."

"Methadone?" Goten asked.

"Yeah. It's used to treat heroin addiction and gets rid of the withdrawals. Plus it gives pretty much the same high. But I don't personally get a lot of demand for it."

"T-Thanks." He put the package in his pocket and shakily stood.

"I have other clients I need to see Goten. So, could you maybe go home? Take a cold shower or something and just calm the fuck down."

Goten nodded, bid the boy farewell and excited the room. He strode down the hallway and out of the apartment building. His whole body was shaking badly and he could feel himself sweating despite the cool night air. He ducked into an ally as he began to feel nauseated ; he lent against the brick and brought up everything in his stomach accompanied with a fair amount of bile. It was painful to say the least, as if something was ripping him apart inside. No longer able to endure the pain, Goten found a secluded spot, away from his own vomit, and fumbled with two of the methadone pills. He place both into his mouth and tried, desperately, to dry swallow them. His throat was burning and the small tablets stuck to the roof of his mouth. Again he tried to swallow the pills and finally he succeeded. Within moments he felt as if he was flying. He was a million dollars; everyone was a fucking million dollars. The world was spinning around him. Colours mixing together and creating a rainbow montage. With a slightly feminine giggle, he stumbled down towards the sidewalk and proceeded to fly back to his home in the mountains.

The silence was unbearable. Not a word had been uttered in over ten minutes. My mother had said a brief 'Hello' and asked me all time 'favourite' questions, while my father stood behind her looking as disappointed with me as ever did. Bura wasn't with them; obviously it was better to protect from such things as her insane older brother. If I am honest, I resented them a little but I was not quite sure why. Maybe it's because they were making me feel so guilty and all appeared to be angry with me in their own way. I don't know what I did to make them angry; it's not like I was trying to kill them or anything.

The eerie silence was hideous and so I curled onto my side, my back to them and my eyes averted to the window. I heard my mother sigh and the chair scraped on the floor as she got to her feet. My father briefly whispered to her.

"Trunks." He said, a little softer than I had expected, "We will leave you to rest for now. But we will see you again later."

They left, as promised.

Although I almost died, I felt nothing. The anger had dwindled away, the pain was now a dull throb and even the burning in my throat had become numb. I didn't feel at all like I wanted to die anymore but I didn't feel like living either. Living is hard. But dying, it's a whole different thing. When you die your gone, that's it. Blackness from here on in. Yes, okay, there are the dragon balls but they don't bring you back from the lowest level of hell; which is exactually where I am going. So, you'll float around, disembodied and hopeless for eternity. And, if you really think about it, eternity is a damned long time.

But that's the problem, isn't it? We have too much time to think. We are always told to think hard and use our heads but, in reality, it's dangerous to think. You can think too much and twist yourself into a knot of desperate questions. And these questions eventually have no answers; at least none to be gained from your own mind. Sometimes, your thoughts depress you and no matter how much you try, you can't climb out of it.

I trust you can see why I was torn. I neither wanted to live because of all the pointlessness to life but, on the other side, because I was alive and I was able to think, I didn't want to die. Thinking about death is fine, until you go deeper. Then, suddenly, you're scared. But, what do you do if you are scared to do both?

"Hi Trunks."

I didn't even have to turn over to know that it was Gohan. The door was shut gently, I heard him scrape the chair along the ground and take a seat. Only then, did I turn to face him. He was sitting there, unshaven and stroking his stubble with his fingers.

"I'm sorry Trunks." He sighed.

I opened my mouth to speak but I could only manage a sharp rasp before the sound disappeared. I wanted to ask why he was sorry, he hadn't done anything wrong.

"Geez." His voice had raised an octave or two, "What the hell do I say? What can I say? Nothing will make it seem better, Trunks, and I am so sorry but that is the long and the short of it. We just have to work through this. You'll feel better eventually but the desire will never go away." Gohan swallowed back tears, "I'm sorry that I can't say it will all get better."

What happened next surprised both me and Gohan. I smiled and spoke. My voice was weak and quiet but I still made intelligent speech.

"Thank fuck." I whispered.

Gohan watched me; his eyes were wide and the tears dripped from the corners. He gently took my hand.

"Why? Why thank fuck?" he replied.

"Because. You didn't bullshit." I swallowed, my throat was beginning to ache, "You told the t-truth."

At this, Gohan forced a small smile and squeezed my fingers.

"Shh. Don't strain your voice now." His other hand was laid on my shoulder, "God. I'm proud of you."

I wanted to cry at this. Here I was in hospital for attempting to kill myself, my own father can barely look at me, my own mother can't talk to me and my sister can't even see the fuck up that is her brother, yet, Gohan is _proud_ of me. Proud for talking? Proud for realising the truth? I don't know but, at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Goku and Vegeta jogged towards the Brief's household from the gravity chamber. Snow was now blanketing the ground and the sun had left it's warmth behind. It was odd that, with the cold weather, the ice between the two saiyans had melted and they now spent every day together. Bulma had work to do so her mind was safely occupied, as was Bura's with the thought of Christmas. Trunks, having been released from the hospital (but not without a series of appointments to follow), kept his wing unlocked and attempted to go downstairs more often. Gohan and Goten spent most of their days with him trying to help him exercise his vocal cords and also just doing guy things. However, his eating was still almost non-existent and the doctors put it down to his body's state of mind rather than an eating disorder; Depression was a funny thing.

Since Trunks' overdose everything had changed. He was being watched every hour of everyday; it was almost as if everyone was trying too hard. On the outside, he held a happy front but on the inside he still felt as empty and worthless as he had before. He was lying to everyone, his best friend, his parents and even his doctor. He couldn't tell them how he felt; once you open a can of worms it's almost impossible to close it.

Goten also seemed different. He, too, was thin and always was shaking. The white of his eyes had a yellowish tint, as did his skin, and he was always fidgeting. But he was no less cheery than he had been before. In fact, it seemed his sudden change had gone unnoticed by everyone but Trunks. The younger sayian was awful jumpy at times; he got angry quickly and was suffering from sleep deprivation. How did Trunks know? Because in the time he had spent not talking, he had become so much more observant. He just hoped his suspicions weren't accurate. But then, if they were, who was he to judge? He was just as bad, just as troubled; just as fucked. He knew it was horrible but a small part of him hoped that it was true, and then he wouldn't be the big disappointment anymore. Life would maybe be slightly more bearable.

Gohan balanced the sketch pad on his knee; he held his tongue between his teeth and tabbed the pencil on the edge of the book. Trunks and Goten watched him from the opposite couch. Each held back a smirk as they watched the older sayian make silly faces at his paper.

"I can see that." Gohan said without taking his eyes from the book.

"What?" Goten asked as he tried his best to suppress a laugh.

"You're trying not to laugh at my art face."

That was it. The two boys exploded into fits of laughter, the gripped their rips and were gasping for breath. Gohan watched them with a bemused expression.

"Haha. Okay. Just watch your damn movie."

"What is with the faces?" Goten replied through laughter.

"Subconscious concentration."

"Huh?"

"I really can't dumb that down anymore for you brother."

Goten's smile disappeared and he scowled at the older man.

"What? Did you just call me stupid?"

Trunks slid to the other side of the couch, as far from Goten as possible. Gohan put his hands up in defence.

"Chill. I was kidding Goten."

"No you weren't!" Goten got to his feet and clenched his fists at his sides, "I'm just as intelligent as you are!"

"G-Goten." Trunks whispered, "It was a joke. You know how siblings are sometimes."

"Oh. Now you pipe up! But don't defend me, you're best friend, defend him !" Goten snapped.

Trunks fell silent.

"That's enough Goten!" Gohan reached forward and took hold of his brothers arm, " Sit down and just cool it."

Goten pulled out of his grasp and stomped to the bathroom. The door was slammed shut and locked behind him. Trunks rose from his seat to go to his friend's aid.

"Trunks leave him be."

"B-But." He coughed and gripped his throat.

"Don't over work your muscles. Just sit down, he'll be out soon." Gohan seemed unconcerned with his brother's outburst and simply went back to making faces at his sketch pad.

Trunks, reluctantly, sat down again. He grasped his hands on his lap.

"It's hormones Trunks. You know yourself what its like."

"Y-yeah."

Goten was on the floor of the small bathroom. His back was pressed against the door, his bare feet rested on the chill tiles and his knees were drawn up to his chest. He fumbled with the pot of liquid. It was carefully filled into the vial of the syringe and injected directly into the vein at the crook of Goten's elbow. His arm stung for a moment after his third puncture, he pressed his finger tips wound and felt sticky liquid. Blood. He cringed and buried his face in his hands.

This was all wrong. Not only had he been shooting heroin once a day but now he was addicted to it's counter long as he kept going to work and kept getting paid; he would keep buying drugs. The drugs gave him energy to do more shifts, therefore more money; therefore more drugs.

He balled his hands into fists and thumped his temples. For a moment he sat still, breathing deeply and counting the floor tiles. The drug began to take affect and he felt better. He knew it wouldn't be long before his paranoia and anger set in again, but for now the high was all that mattered.

Goten pushed himself from the floor, brushed himself down, checked his arm for blood and unlocked the bathroom door.

"Calmed down?" Gohan asked as the demi-sayian trod towards them.

"Yes. Sorry." Goten replied with a smiled, he ruffled his brothers hair, "Hormones."

"That's what I thought."

It was five thirty. After an intense training session, Goku and Vegeta had takin over the Brief's living room as they stormed the Middle East as American marine. Bulma and Chi Chi sat on the couch, each with a coffee, as they watched their husbands. They both sat on the floor in front of the television, a controller in each of their hands and each with a headset. Vegeta had never seemed more human; his friendship with Goku had really paid off.

"How did you get so good at this?" Goku asked.

Vegeta smiled, "What? Is it upsetting that I am beating you at video games, Kakorot?"

"No. It's just you sucked when we first started!"

"I'm a fast learner."

"Bull, Vege." Bulma laughed, "He's been practicing with Trunks and Bura when he isn't training. He has even dragged me into playing."

Vegeta glared at his wife.

"See! That's cheating! I can't do that at home."

"Oh don't cry." Vegeta scoffed.

"Chi. We should invest in a game machine." Goku whined.

"Get a job and then we'll talk about it." Chi Chi didn't look up from the magazine she was reading.

"But your job is good enough to support us? Why do I need one?"

"Why do you not need one?"

Goku was silent as he pondered.

"Oh Chi. Let him be." Bulma joked, "Face it. We are the bread earners in our families."

"I agree with the woman." Vegeta replied.

The men played on while the women read through their fashion magazine and catalogues. Bura soon joined them and fought her father for the controller. It was settled with a simple rock, paper, scissors; Bura won.

Vegeta sat next to Bulma and watched his daughter and friend play. Every few minutes Bulma would point out mens clothes to him, asking his opinion but he was clearly more interested in the game.

However, in his mind, he was gasping for a drink. He began to tap his foot and chew at the skin around his finger nails.

"Sweetie?" Bulma placed her hand on his thigh, "You okay?"

"Hn. Yes woman, I'm fine."

"Daddy! Look. We made it to the next mission." Bura beamed as Goku and she shared a high five.

"That's great!" Vegeta replied, a little too enthusiastically.

"We are kicking Russian ass next." Goku exclaimed.

Once again, the prince was drawn into the war fare on the television. Anything to keep his mind off the need for alcohol. How human had he become? The lust for substances? The pain and worry over his son? The sudden love for Goku? Even playing video games? There was no doubt he had changed. A part of him hated the change but the other part was relieved with it. For all those years he neglected his emotions, locked his feelings deep inside himself; all because he was afraid of being seen as weak. But he wasn't seen as weak, quite the opposite. Goku, earlier that evening, had told him how strong he was being about Trunks, about the alcohol and, most of all, how brave he was finally knocking down his walls.

Bulma, obviously sensing her husband's intense thinking, took hold of his hand and squeezed. He looked at her and smiled.

"It will all be okay." She whispered.

"Thank you."


End file.
